


Across a Bed of Hot Coals

by DeathByStorm



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale looks after his demon just as Crowley looks after his angel, Aziraphale takes care of Crowley, Episode 3 1941 timestamp, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Pre-Slash, hurt/comfort of a sort, i love these two, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 17:05:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19338829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathByStorm/pseuds/DeathByStorm
Summary: Crowley winced as he sat down and somehow between all his puttering about, Aziraphale caught the pained expression on his face.“The consecrated ground! How did I not - Crowley, are you okay?”“I’m fine.”He did his best to relax back on the couch and school his expression into one of relaxed indifference, but Aziraphale wasn’t having it.In which Aziraphale takes care of Crowley after his 1941 rescue.I do not give my consent for this fic to be posted on Fanfic Pocket Archive Library (Unofficial) or any other similar apps.





	Across a Bed of Hot Coals

**Author's Note:**

> It's my first Good Omens fanfic. I am so excited to be posting this! 
> 
> As always, beta'd by the lovely [Eilera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eilera/pseuds/Eilera)

His feet hurt.

Crowley waved his hand at them hopefully as they picked their way through the rubble, but of course nothing happened. That was what happened when a demon walked on consecrated ground. They hadn’t hurt as much in the car but walking on them with his full body weight had Crowley holding back a hiss.

Around them, most of the buildings had been destroyed by the recent bombings. The only two pristine things remaining on the street were Aziraphale’s bookshop and of course the Bentley.

“I can’t thank you enough for saving my books, Crowley,” Aziraphale said.

And wasn’t that just typical of him. Never mind that he was almost discorporated, it was the books that he was excited about. Still, he filed away the image of Aziraphale’s happy smile adding it to his memories of the angel that were carefully curated and jealously guarded. “It was nothing.”

The truth was, he wouldn’t have been able to stand Aziraphale’s sadness in the face of having lost them. He looked over to the angel who was whole and hale and alive. It had been worth it. It would be even more worth it when his da – blessed feet healed. For now, he did his best to stand up straight and hide his discomfort.

“It’s wasn’t nothing.”

The shop’s bell tinkled gently as Aziraphale opened the door.

“Tea? Or perhaps some hot cocoa? The latter of course would have to be miracled up because of the rationing, but –”

“Tea’s fine, angel.”

Crowley winced as he sat down and somehow between all his puttering about, Aziraphale caught the pained expression on his face.

“The consecrated ground! How did I not - Crowley, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

He did his best to relax back on the couch and school his expression into one of relaxed indifference, but Aziraphale wasn’t having it.

“My dear, if you would only let me have a look at them,” Aziraphale said.

“I doubt you’ll be able to do anything,” Crowley said.

Something soft and secret in his chest thrilled at Aziraphale’s concern. The rest of him just wanted to curl up and nap until his feet were better. Hells, they were throbbing now.

“Boots off.”

“Angel, do we have to do this? They’ll heal.”

“Yes, I rather believe we do. Don’t you think that your posturing can fool me.”

Crowley hissed in annoyance and the boots vanished, along with his socks. He plunked his feet on Aziraphale’s coffee table and raised one eyebrow.

“Happy now, angel?” 

“Quite,” he muttered and leaned over to take a look at them. “Crowley.”

“They don’t even hurt,” he refused to meet Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Liar.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers. As expected, nothing happened.  “Well, you’re right, I can’t heal these.”

Crowley jerked his feet back. “Told you.”

“But I can treat them. Stay right there.”

Aziraphale stepped out of the room for a moment and Crowley heard rummaging from the next room over. Something fell and broke and Crowley flinched at the sound. Aziraphale popped back into the room covered head to toe in dust holding a first aid kit.

“You could have just let it happen you know. The worst that would have happened is that I would have been discorporated.”

“It doesn’t sound like much of a choice.”

“Just, I hate seeing you get hurt on my account,” Aziraphale said. “And discorporation isn’t permanent.”

And how could Crowley explain to him, that at the whims of heaven it might be? They might send down another angel to take Aziraphale’s place and then where would he be? Aziraphale, up in heaven. Him stuck on Earth, without Aziraphale, _alone_ and with a new angel that wouldn’t be half as interesting as the old one.

Aziraphale knelt in front of him and gently inspected his feet. Despite the pain that he’d felt when walking, Crowley could barely feel the angel’s hands on his feet in some parts. Which he knew wasn’t a good thing. Aziraphale guided his feet down into a box full of cold water that he’d miracled up into existence.

 “Crowley?”

“Mmm sorry, wasn’t listening.”

“I said next time you should just let it happen. The state of your skin,” Aziraphale tutted as he opened the first aid kit.

“I wouldn’t,” Crowley said after a few moments.

 “Crowley! I don’t-”

“It wassss my choice.”

“Promise me the next time something like this happens, you won’t do something like this.”

“I can’t promise that, angel.”

The hot pain had disappeared from his feet, and it was slowly being replaced by a bone deep ache from the cold water.

Aziraphale made an infuriated sound and held up a towel.

“You know I can –”

Aziraphale glared at him and Crowley obligingly lifted his feet out of the water. The angel was impossibly gentle as he patted them dry, though they still stung a little from his ministrations. There was the pop of a cap opening.

“What’s that?” Crowley said.

“Penicillin.”

“But it won’t-”

“My dear, that’s hardly the point.”

Crowley fell silent. Aziraphale began to rub the ointment in, taking as much care as he possibly could. There was a tight line to his mouth and a little frown between his eyes that Crowley wasn’t used to seeing. He longed to reach forward and smooth it away with his thumb.

“There. All done,” Aziraphale leaned back. The first aid kit disappeared back to its hidey hole by itself as the angel regarded him.

“What?”

“You’ll stay here while you recover,” Aziraphale said.

There was a strange sort of desperation in Aziraphale’s eyes that made any protest Crowley could have made die in his throat.

“Okay.”

“Good. Jolly good. I’ll just go make up the bed then shall I?”

He headed out of the room without waiting for a reply and Crowley shook his head. Angels.

*

Later, long after Crowley should have been asleep, he felt the mattress dip down beside him.

“Aziraphale? But you-”

“Go to sleep, Crowley. I’m still mad at you.”

And he did.

It was the best damn sleep he’d had in centuries.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come scream about Good Omens with me on [Tumblr](https://www.deathbystorm.tumblr.com)


End file.
